


Like a Peach

by Lillyjk



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Clint has sex pants, Dirty Talk, Dirty Thoughts, M/M, No actual sex, Phil has a tight ass, but lots of talking about sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-07
Updated: 2014-10-07
Packaged: 2018-02-20 08:04:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2421278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lillyjk/pseuds/Lillyjk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint has sex pants.  Phil has a tight ass.  Both of them are undercover at a gay bar.</p><p>for Adamantsteve who helped inspire this particular fic</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like a Peach

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AdamantSteve](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdamantSteve/gifts).



 

Barton was in leather pants. Leather pants that fit him like they were custom-made for his muscular legs and sculpted ass. Oh, and by the way, they were custom made because they were Barton’s pants, not something the SHIELD wardrobe department whipped up for the op, but custom-made black leather pants with a lace-up crotch that Barton just happened to have around the house. Phil knew this because he had overheard Sheila from wardrobe tittering about Hawkeye’s “sex pants” before he ever actually laid eyes on them. He had allowed himself a figurative eye roll before he pushed his way into the briefing room and caught a glimpse of Barton. He stopped short in the doorway and just took it all in.

They were totally sex pants.

There was no way you could look at Barton and not think about sex. Hot, sweaty, messy, pull-a-muscle sex. Kneel down and unlace those tight leather pants with your teeth sex. Bend over and spread your legs and savor the push of a large cock up your ass sex.

Phil was totally fucked and he wasn’t even going to get fucked. Sometimes he hated his life.

Barton turned and caught him gaping and smirked. “I look good, right?”

Phil gave himself a mental shake, get it together Coulson. “You look totally appropriate for the operation, Barton.” And that was deflection, not a lie of omission. In addition to the leather pants (sex pants), there was a tight grey t-shirt with sleeves short enough that the bottom of Barton’s tattoo was visible, a couple of leather and metal cuffs, and god help him smudged black eyeliner.

Barton looked every bit the part he was going to play, bartender/eye candy at one of the hottest gay bars in New York. All he had to do was show up, wait for their inside guy to point out Christianson, and get a tracer in his drink. It was a simple, two-person op. The only reason Phil was going along was to provide some unobtrusive backup in case things went south and Barton got made. Evidently Phil’s own look made him perfect for the part of forgettable bar patron, stopping in for a drink and a glimpse of how the younger, hotter generation was doing it up these days.

He and Barton were actually overkill for the mission, but it turned out that one of Hawkeye's many skills (along with owning and wearing sex pants) was bartending. So here they were.

“Yeah, yeah. I get it, Sir. Always strictly business.” Barton sighed dramatically.

Phil’s lips quirked. “Let’s get started,” he checked his watch. “You go on shift in an hour.”

***

At least the sex pants were hidden behind the bar, Phil thought. His position at one dark corner of the bar let him watch Barton without being obvious about it. He just looked like one of the other creepers that had fixated on some fresh meat. He frowned, Barton seemed to be having a little too much fun (again) flirting with the guys who had flocked to order a drink from the hot new bartender. Unsurprisingly Barton's appeal crossed every age group and socioeconomic class, if the steady stream of admirers he'd garnered was any judge. Phil had heard every bit of the back and forth flirtation over the coms.

"How's your dirty martini?" the guy asked, practically hanging over the bar to leer at Barton. Jesus, Phil thought, he looked old enough to be Barton's grandfather. He was definitely too old to be gawking at Barton’s ass in the sex pants.

Barton cocked his head to the side and gave him a slow smile, "Extra dirty, sweetheart."

"I just bet it is," the guy said. He reached across the bar and ran a hand over the swell of Barton's exposed bicep. "I bet everything about you is extra dirty."

"Absolutely filthy." Barton agreed as he expertly mixed the drink and slid it across the counter. He licked his lips and, for not the first time, Phil wanted to do bad things. Very bad things. Involving the sex pants.

The guy simpered and stuffed some money into Barton's tip jar.

Barton bent to wipe the bar, whispering over the com to Phil. "That was a fifty dollar tip, Sir. In case you were wondering."

Phil did roll his eyes then, they were into the third hour of Barton's shift and this was about the twentieth customer to bat his eyelashes at Barton. As the evening wore on, Barton had gotten progressively more flirtatious. It was beginning to work on Phil like a raw nerve.

He brought the drink he’d been nursing to his lips, using it to cover his mouth as he spoke into the open line. "Frankly Agent Barton, I'm beginning to question if you are the right person for the job. You seem a little distracted by your admirers. What I've seen tonight is not very professional. Agent Ward is pretty enough to take your place if you can't keep your mind on the mission." Phil knew he was being pissy bringing Ward into it. For some reason Barton had a bee in his bonnet about the younger agent working occasional working with Phil.

There was a long silence before Barton answered him with a subdued, "Yes, Sir." Phil relaxed back into his seat until Barton added, "Good to know you think I'm pretty though."

Phil snorted. "Yes, Barton. You're very pretty, especially in those pants." Fuck, what was he doing? Why did he have to mention the sex pants?

Barton shot him a surprised look and then a truly wicked smile. “Glad they meet your approval, Sir.” And yeah, he was not imagining the way Barton made Sir sound provocative and full of promise.

Phil was so screwed.

***

Thirty minutes later Phil was getting ready to call it for the night when their source discreetly pointed out a well-dressed guy in his mid-thirties that had arrived with a group. Christianson had made his appearance.

Phil passed the intel to Barton. “That’s the guy, the good-looking one with the nice leather jacket.” Under other circumstances Phil might have even found the guy hot.

“You wound me, Sir. I thought the only leather you liked was what’s covering my ass.”

“I’m covering your ass, Barton,” Phil snapped. That didn’t come out exactly right.

“Not yet, Sir. But you could be.”

And really, there was no way Phil could respond to that.

Christianson made a beeline for the bar and ordered a shot of tequila from one of the other bartenders, throwing it back and making a slow survey of the room. Christianson was a chemist with a little too much interest in making the next generation truth serum and absolutely no interest in making sure his buyers were legit. Barton was going to put a tracer in his drink and a surveillance team would take it from there.

Phil tensed when the man's gaze lingered on him, wondering if he’d been made. When it became obvious the man was going to continue to stare, Phil looked up and and gave him a dismissive nod before looking down at his nearly empty glass.

Phil watched him discreetly in the mirror above the bar. Christianson continued to stare in his direction a moment longer and then motioned for a bartender. Barton slid in front of him, giving Christianson a killer smile. "Another shot?"

"No," Christianson said. "Not for me. What is he drinking?"

Barton paused a beat, "That guy?"

"Yeah, the tight ass at the end of the bar working the suit like nobody's business."

Phil scanned the bar with a sinking sensation. He was the only guy at the bar in a suit.

"Whiskey." Barton said, his voice flat. "But you’re wasting your time with him. I've been watching him all night and he's got an attitude problem."

Phil snorted, yeah, he had the attitude problem. Right.  He wasn’t the one who’d been flirting with every piece of ass in the joint.

Christianson let out a low laugh. "Take it from me, the guys like that, the ones who seem all uptight and repressed, they're the best." He leaned a little closer to Barton. "When you get enough alcohol in them they loosen right up. I bet you that guy's a demon in bed. Pour him a double shot of your best."

Barton propped his arms on the bar, muscles straining. "Nah, man. You're going about it all wrong. If it was me, I'd want him stone cold sober. No alcohol to dull the sensations." He shot a look down the bar toward Phil and Phil studiously did not meet his eyes.

Barton continued, "I saw him when he came in, and he's got at least a 9 incher. Guys like that are used to being in charge, always giving, never taking. He's probably used to sticking that big cock wherever he wants and leaving 'em begging for more. He needs a firm hand to remind him just how good it can be to be on the receiving end. Now me, I'd grab him by the tie and wind it around my hand and pull him in close. I wouldn't kiss him right away, just sort of nuzzle his ear and whisper all the dirty things I'd like to do to him. Bet his ass is so tight, it would be like popping his cherry when I made him bend over. Tell him how I'm going to go to my knees and put my tongue all over his hole and eat his ass out like a ripe peach."

Jesus. Phil hoped the com didn't pick up the little sound he'd made. He had a stunningly vivid image of how it would look, how it would feel, if Barton went to his knees for him.

" I bet I could get him to come just from that. My lips and tongue licking every fucking millimeter of that tight ass, getting him so wet that I wouldn't even need lube. I could just slide my fingers right in and work him open."

Phil’s cheeks were flaming, his traitorous cock hardening in his pants. Fuck, there was no way Barton didn’t know what this was doing to him.

“I would start with two fingers, ease them inside and spread him open so my tongue could go even deeper. Bet he’d taste good too.” Barton’s voice was low and rough.

Phil pressed the heel of his hand against his crotch. He was embarrassingly close to coming in his pants.

“But hey, enough about me. Let me get that drink ready.” Barton was suddenly all business again. “You want to take it to him or should I?”

Phil looked up and sure enough Barton was pouring two fingers of whiskey into a glass. Meanwhile Christianson was practically drooling as his eyes went back and forth from Barton to Phil.

“You paint a really nice picture. Maybe we could make it a three way party. I've got a little something that can really help loosen him up back at my place. Between the two of us we could break that tight ass right in. With the right chemical persuasion we can fuck his hole at the same time.” Christianson said. God, the man was making Phil's skin crawl. The way he was casually talking about drugging Phil was a pretty good sign that it was something he'd done before.

Barton didn't miss a beat. “Now that sounds like a fine way to spend the rest of my evening. My shift is over pretty soon. Let me deliver this drink and see if I can stir up any interest. You sure I can't get something for you in the meantime?”

“No, but hurry back and let me know how our offer is received.”

About five seconds later Barton was sliding the drink in front of Phil and leaning in to whisper in his ear. “Well, Sir, seems like you made quite an impression with the mark. Must be that whole look but don't touch vibe you've got going.”

Phil pointedly glanced down the bar like he was checking Christianson out. “Let's just focus on getting the tracker where it's supposed to go.”

“Yeah, how about you buy him a drink now? I'll slip it in and as soon as he drinks it we're good to go.”

Phil forced himself to look down the bar again and smile at Christianson. “Do it. I want to end this before I act on the compulsion to put a bullet between his eyes.”

Barton licked his lips, “Might sell it better if you seemed a little into me, too.”

As if Phil could look anything but extremely into Barton. He leaned back on his bar stool and gave Barton a considering look. What he was about to do was probably a really bad idea. He leaned back in, letting one hand slide up the side of Barton's neck until he was cradling his chin, his thumb swiping across Barton's bottom lip. “Why don't you tell him that I want to find out just how well you suck cock.” He pressed until Barton obediently opened his mouth, letting the pad of Phil's thumb slip inside.

Barton's groan went straight to Phil's dick. Barton sucked on his thumb for one long second before pulling away and steadying himself on the bar. “Good, yeah, very effective, Sir.” He pasted a cocky grin back on his face and heading back toward Christianson.

Only Christianson had already decided that Phil was receptive and was making his way over to the bar stool next to Phil's. He smiled coyly at Phil and offered a hand. “Looks like we're all going to be great friends. I'm David, and you are?”

“Will.” Phil forced himself to shake the proffered hand. “Thanks for the drink, and the invitation.” He took a long swallow of the whiskey. “But you have to let me return the favor.”

Barton was back with another tequila shot.  No doubt the tracer was in that glass.

Christianson leaned close, sliding a hand along Phil's thigh. “Of course.” He accepted the glass and downed it. “You should drink up too, and we'll head to my place.”

Phil very carefully did not break all of Christianson’s fingers even though the man's hand was slowly working its way upwards. He was very aware of Barton across the bar.

“Hey, what the fuck? You guys getting started without me?” Barton was the perfect mix of pouty and belligerent. “I've got another half hour until my shift ends.”

“We're just getting warmed up.” Christianson replied, his hand clamping down on Phil's thigh.

“Yeah, well it looks like you had me get him warmed up and now you're trying to ditch me.”

This was his cue. “Actually,” Phil said. He picked Christianson's hand up from his thigh. “I'm thinking this might not be such a good idea after all.” He pushed back from the bar and stood up.

“We were only just getting started,” Christianson protested.

Phil gave him his best Agent Coulson stare-down. “Well, what can I say? You're like a Picasso, you look better from a distance.”

He'd always been good at making an exit.

***

Fifteen minutes later, Barton joined him in the nondescript SHIELD sedan parked in the alley outside the club.

“You were awesome, Sir. You should have seen the look on his face when you left without a backwards glance.” Barton was grinning ear to ear. “What a douche.”

Phil scrubbed a hand over his face. “No doubt.” He started the car and headed back toward the office. He'd spent the last few minutes getting himself back under control but seeing Barton sprawled out all loose-limbed and relaxed in the passenger seat in the sex pants was getting him heated back up.

“Do we have to debrief tonight or can it wait until tomorrow?” Barton asked. “I'd really like to get out of these pants.”

“Sure thing.” Phil said, trying and failing not to imagine Barton peeling the skin-tight sex pants down his muscular legs. “I'll drop you at your place and we can meet up in the morning.”

Barton leaned over the center console and casually cupped Phil's cock and Phil maybe almost hit a parked car when he jerked the wheel. “Or, you could stay with me and I could show you just how well I suck cock.”

“Barton...” Phil started.

“You're going to have to call me Clint. It would be a little weird for you to call me by my last name when I get my tongue in your ass, Phil.”

The drive to Clint's apartment should have taken twenty minutes. Phil made it in ten.

****  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 


End file.
